My Happy Ending
by I Heart Toothless
Summary: Emmalee Jade Parker, or Emmie, is a fourteen-year-old girl trying to survive the zombie apocalypse. She's never liked or believed in happy endings, and this new world doesn't help change her views. But can a certain boy with cute blue eyes and a sheriff's hat help? CarlxOC


**My Happy Ending**

**Prologue**

I've never really liked the idea of happy endings.

All those movies where the good guy defeats the bad guy and gets the girl. All those books where the main character makes a whole bunch of mistakes that seem impossible to fix, but then he or she simply apologizes and then gets all of his or her friends back. I've never liked those. Or how the little orphaned girl finally finds a family that loves her and calls her part of them. I don't like how these movies and books make everyone who watches them or reads them believe they'll get a happy ending, just like these characters.

Or maybe I just feel this way because, since I was a little girl, I never believed I'd get a happy ending. I've had a pretty shitty life.

I was born to a sixteen-year-old, along with my twin, Ethan. Our mother hadn't even wanted us in the first place, and it didn't really matter whether or not our father wanted us, because he had murdered someone right before our birth, and was now facing life behind bars. Our mother put us up for adoption, and almost immediately, Ethan was adopted. But I was left behind. Our mother had told the adoption agency that she didn't care whether or not Ethan and I stayed together. So I grew up unwanted, bouncing around from foster family to foster family. Each one would say I was too quiet, or I'd get into a fight at school and they didn't want me because I was such a trouble-making nuisance.

I didn't have the greatest education, simply because of my moving around so much, but my life actually did get a little better when I was thirteen. A young couple decided to foster me, and they treated me well. They didn't think I was too quiet, and when I ended up in a fight at school and they heard about how it had started because someone was making fun of me and my history, they weren't really mad about it. They spoiled me. They gave me nice clothes, my own room and bathroom. They even bought me an iPod! I couldn't wait to fill it with all of my favorite country songs.

I really thought that this was it. I had finally found my home. That I was finally going to be adopted, and loved.

But then my foster parents ended up pregnant. At first, they assured me that I'd always have a home with them, but when they found out they were having triplets, they decided that triplets were enough and that they couldn't find time for the fourth kid, the foster kid, the kid who doesn't really matter because she wasn't their baby.

So I was switched to a foster family yet again. Luckily, my previous family let me keep all of my clothes, and my iPod, which I was so glad for. I had a couple cases for it and, at the time, it had about four hundred songs on it.

By this time, I was fourteen. I was at that age where I didn't pay too much attention to the news, but I watched bits and pieces. And I watched enough to know about the creepy disease that was causing everyone to eat each other. Bunch of freaks.

At first, I didn't worry about it. It was happening on the other side of the world. People would deal with it before it got over here.

Then one day, when I got home from school, I found my foster parents gone. The house was deserted, and things were scattered. They at least had the decency to leave me a note on the kitchen table, explaining how the virus had reached the United States and that they were going to find their family and a rescue center.

At that moment, the only thing I had was myself and the dog they left behind. Her name was Sam, and she was a sweet two-year-old German shepherd. She was definitely the best part of that family.

I packed the things I felt I needed most, including my two hunting knives, the Beretta 92 my foster father kept in his room and had kindly left for me (maybe they weren't so bad after all, that gun has saved me many times) and a box of ammunition. I also found a baseball bat in the attic, so I took that with me.

I left with my duffel bag, Sam, my weapons, and a backpack with a blanket, granola bars, a box of instant oatmeal, crackers, and four water bottles. I had put a small first-aid kit in my duffel bag. I don't know why I prepared so well for the apocalypse, but I did. In the garage was a flashlight and a small pack of batteries, so I had thrown them in my bag and left.

I didn't know where I was going, and I didn't know what the things were that kept attacking me. They were gray, and most of them had chunks of flesh missing out of their shoulders, necks, and arms. I found that the only way to truly kill these things was to hit the brain.

The only thing I knew was that I was alone, besides Sam, and that I was only fourteen years old. How the hell was I expected to survive?

But somehow, I did. And I made it to the prison. Where my views on a happy ending slowly began to change, thanks to a boy in a sheriff's hat.

* * *

**Author's Note**

So? How'd I do?

Okay, so I can't promise an update any time soon, but I'd love feedback.

Also, there is information about this story on my bio. Pictures of Emmalee, Sam, and Emmalee's outfits and accessories.

Love,  
DW


End file.
